


To Die A Winchester

by ashandcas (ashriddle4)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas slowly losing his grace, First Time, Hurt Castiel, M/M, Post 9x23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 20:43:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1616417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashriddle4/pseuds/ashandcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a very difficult time, Dean relives his first time with Cas. (Set just after the Season 9 finale)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Die A Winchester

Dean shut his bedroom door by slamming Cas against it. The sharp snapping sound echoed through the room. Dean braced himself, palms flat against the wooden door, on each side of Cas’s head. Cas’s eyes were wide, impossibly blue, his mouth open and slightly wet. Dean crushed their mouths together.

Dean’s stomach dropped as if he’d lost sense of gravity. Cas tasted like starlight and original flavor Chapstick, and he was already addicted to the flavor. Dean growled low in his throat as Cas stole the opportunity to kiss back. Hard.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this way. Dean wasn’t sure he ever had. Like Cas, like happiness, was a wire he could use to stitch his broken pieces back together.

“You’re smiling, Dean,” Cas said.

“Damn right.”

Cas moved his mouth, still hot and wet with Dean’s kiss, to Dean’s cheek, earlobe, to the throbbing pulse in his neck. Dean’s hands went to the buttons on Cas’s white blood-stained shirt, fumbling on the buttons.

Frustration hit him like a fist to the chest. Dean gripped the fabric tight and tore down as hard as he could. The ivory buttons pinged across the wooden floor. He shoved the shirt the rest of the way off Cas’s shoulders.

His eyes went right to the planes and angles of Cas’s body. He’d seem him shirtless before, but never allowed himself to look that closely. Now his gaze was peeling across every freckle, every bit of skin. He had to make up for all the time he missed.

“You broke my shirt.” Cas blinked.

“To hell with your shirt.” Dean ran his fingers down Cas’s torso.

Cas swallowed. “To hell with _your_ shirt.”

Dean laughed, heavy and hearty, and so unlike him. Cas echoed Dean with a laugh of his own, and hands pushed under Dean’s t-shirt, until the fabric was up and over his head. He tossed it toward the corner. Cas sealed up any remaining distance between them and it was just their sweaty, cut skin against each other, places still wet with blood, blood that was now mixing together.

A slight sting shocked through Dean. He inhaled sharply, but shook away the pain. He couldn’t get that blood out of his head. He pressed their bodies even closer together, as if he could make them one that way.

And he could feel it as their bodies, their mouths moved together. In his arms, right now, Dean was going to remake Cas. Into his. Into a Winchester.

“Dean,” Cas managed between forceful kiss.

“Yeah, man?”

“I love you.”

That was only the second time Cas had said those words. The first was merely hours ago when Dean had turned the first blade on himself. When he wanted to die. Now all Dean could hear was the voice in his head saying, _Live, Live, Live._ He’d been hearing those words since Cas had said he loved him. Well, actually he’d said, “I’m in love with you, Dean.”

No uncertain terms. Dean knew just how Cas felt about him – and that, that was a damn miracle.

“I love you too, Cas,” Dean said.

And Cas smiled. Wider, brighter, than he’d ever seen. It struck like lightning from his ribs to his feet and Dean couldn’t take another second of this.

His fingers dug into Cas’s hips. He spun him around and shoved him back onto the bed. Cas’s body went rigid, surprise painting his features. With Cas in just his black pants and Dean in just his jeans, which were getting itchier by the second, Dean covered Cas’s body with his own. Cas leaned up and kissed him, pressing his tongue to Dean’s lips. Dean opened his mouth.

Cas’s kisses were fast and messy and little wet, but Dean just wanted more, more, more until he could drown himself in the joy pouring from Cas, from him. They were a rainstorm of pure, reckless joy.

“I never thought…never in a million years…that you would…be with me like this,” murmured Dean, his lips moving against Cas’s.

“But I am. I’m right here, Dean. Right here.” Cas’s hands slid over his biceps leaving a wake of molten lava behind each of his fingers.

Cas hesitated right above the waistband of Dean’s jeans, hovering over the button.

Dean’s mouth went dry, heart a wild thing in his chest. His hands covered Cas’s and pushed them down until they were on the buttons.

“Please,” he groaned, surprised at the desperation.

Cas nodded and Dean felt the button pop open, the zipper slide down. Dean shut his eyes, and Cas’s fingers found their way past the denim, past the cotton, to right where they’d needed to be all along.

Dean slammed is mouth against Cas’s because he needed to breathe and that’s where his oxygen lived now. Inside Cas.

“Am I doing this right?”

Dean laughed.

Cas stopped.

“No, no. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Too damn perfect.”

Cas, well, he unstopped, and Dean’s world turned to beautiful, melting mercury.

When Dean just couldn’t take it any longer, he found Cas’s belt and worked it open. He kissed a trail down Cas’s chest, finding the cuts with his mouth and moving his tongue along the scabs. He bit down on Cas’s navel and followed the dark trail of hair, past where it disappeared. His hands gripped the edge of Cas’s pants and pulled down and off.

He didn’t hesitate like Cas had. Dean knew exactly why they were there, exactly what they both needed. In these last few moments, need had become the very pulse of his existence.

“Dean, shit,” Cas swore.

Dean grinned from ear to ear. That dirty word on Cas’s lips was better than a thousand bottles of whiskey. Seriously, whiskey could screw off. This, Cas, just this way, begging and desperate and so shockingly alive beneath him. That was all the intoxication Dean would ever, ever need.

His mouth moved to Cas’s inner thigh.

“It gets so much better than this.” Dean looked up at him.

Cas raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I’ve had sexual intercourse before, Dean.”

Dean bit down on Cas’s skin. “Not like this, you haven’t.”

“You’re confident in your abilities.”

Dean kissed his way back up Cas’s body. “I am very, very good.”

Their mouths hovered over each other, their chests rising and falling quickly. Dean just watched the flicker in Cas’s eyes as Cas braced his hand on Dean’s back.

“Prove it,” Cas said and then flipped them over so Cas was sitting on top of him.

So Dean did.

He’d never experience anything like this. Anything like being connected in this way, to someone he loved so fiercely, so deeply, he wondered if he couldn’t split the earth’s crust with the weight of it.

Cas’s head was back, his mouth open, his hand splayed on Dean’s chest.

“What was that?” But Cas didn’t seem to hear it.

_Cough. Cough._

And, suddenly, Cas was gone.

***

Dean awoke with a start. He reached to find Cas, to anchor himself to reality, but he the covers were flipped back and the pillow was merely dented.

“Cas,” he said groggly. “Cas!”

Then he heard the coughing, the hacking, again coming from the bathroom. Dean rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands slipped out bed. Still a bit dazed, he made his way into the bathroom.

Cas was hunched over the toilet, the ridges of his spine visible, his skin pale.

“You’re supposed to wake me up when this happens,” Dean said.

Cas wiped his mouth and looked over his shoulder. “If I told you every time, you’d never get to sleep.”

The rush from the dream, from that perfect memory of their first time together, faded entirely in that moment. That joy, that seemingly endless joy, hadn’t lasted long. Cas never got his grace back and without it, well, without it, he was wasting away. The man who had equaled or bettered Dean in strength was now a fragile, little thing.

And Dean wished he were dying with him, but he would never say that to Cas because what keeps Cas living is Dean, and he knows it.

Cas started hacking again and turned back toward the toilet to vomit. He knew there would be blood. There always was now, but it still broke his heart to see it. To see the tears leak from Cas’s eyes and spill down his cheeks, when he couldn’t manage to hold it in anymore.

Dean stroked Cas’s damp hair away from his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into Cas’s ear. “Things could’ve been different for you. They should’ve been. You could’ve lived an eternity as an angel.”

Cas smiled, and Dean could see that old strength flickering somewhere behind his eyes. “I’d rather die a Winchester, than live another million years without you."

 

 

 

 


End file.
